


[Working Title] A Little Less Submissive

by Night-Mare (Aoife)



Series: Omega Skies [3]
Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alpha Basil (Reborn), Alpha Earths, Alternate Universe, M/M, Male Pregnancy, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Omegaverse-type Consent Issues, POV Third Person Limited, Porn With Worldbuilding, Price of Dying Will Flames, Unconventional Uses for Dying Will Flames, Unreliable Narrator(s), Varia being Varia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-09
Updated: 2017-08-22
Packaged: 2018-12-13 09:51:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11757321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aoife/pseuds/Night-Mare
Summary: Basil's First Rut. Part of theOmega Skies 'verse.





	1. Basil's PoV

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [[Remix/Rewrite] In Submission](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11349654) by [Night-Mare (Aoife)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aoife/pseuds/Night-Mare). 



> This fic will probably be as kinky as Xanxus's Heat; it may feature violence, voyeurism, blood-play, breath-play, somnophilia played for it's similarities to necrophilia and tentacles. Everyone is actively consenting though hasn't necessarily been good about their words and negotiating their kink. (The author is rolling her eyes at Belphegor.)

He woke, sore - but not the soreness of hard use. Rather it was the sore of having slept _wrong_. Alone, not warm enough; he’d gotten use to having the furnace of Xanxus’s Flames wrapped around him. He whimpered and tried to uncurl from the foetal position his body had assumed; begging his Flames to help, but all three Flames refused to come to his hands. He managed it _eventually_ , and stumbled awkwardly towards the bathroom of the room that had been designated as _his_. Not that he used it very often over the last five months; Xanxus was still highly possessive, preferred it if he slept within easy reach, and when he wasn’t in Xanxus’s bed, then Niccola and Squalo welcomed him into theirs - whilst Belphegor would enjoy it if he went to his bed, the Storm was a touch too prone to stabbing his bedmates for him to want to try to _sleep_ in the Prince’s bed. He tried to remember why he’d chosen to sleep alone the previous night, but his reasoning was eluding him.

He caught sight of his nude form in the full length mirror on the bathroom door, and contemplated the myriad bites and bruises that decorated his skin. His eyes inspected his reflection carefully, noted the bite marks on his thighs, the handprints on his hips and the ring of bruises around his throat; evidence of how much fun his nights had been for the last five months. His eyes tracked higher, until he met his own eyes, and registered that they were _red_. The irises, not the whites - so not a hangover, or an asphyxiation injury, but like his Sky's. Darker than Xanxus's eyes now he looked - like the strange Flame that normally lurked quietly at the bottom of his soul had decided that it needed to make itself visible.

He called up his illusion Flame - it wasn't Mist, but worked in some of the same ways, was similar enough that Mammon had been able to help him train it - and allowed it's sugar-sand to flow across his skin, scouring away the marks. As much as he’d prefer to wear those markings openly - the evidence of the fact his Sky valued him enough to both love and train him - he had a meeting with the Ninth, and with his godforsaken Father, and going before the two of them without an illusion covering his skin, when he actually needed the two of them to actually _listen_ would be counter productive.

His nii-san had declared that he was going to to visit Italy before he got too large to travel comfortably, in part to make it clear that his Mist needed to be returned by the Vindice, but also to show the flag, to make it clear that he was the Ninth’s heir, strong enough to lead, with one or more potential heirs of his own in his belly. For all he'd 'defected' after Xanxus's Heat, he was still the best intelligence analyst that the Famiglia _had_. He didn’t have the full measure of his otouto’s intuition, but he had enough that between it, and Lal Mirch’s merciless training, he’d been the one that had spotted the more subtle threats - and had _demanded_ the right to _deal_ with the threats from his Sky. Xanxus had laughed in delight, had told him to show them all hell, and if he needed back-up to _ask_ for it.

The Flames stirring at the bottom of his soul snarled at the idea of his otouto and his babies being threatened. He prodded the normally quiet Flame that lurked right at the bottom of his soul, tried to work out what had it so riled, if it was anything beyond the threats he’d already uncovered. It wasn’t that he was also worried about his own Sky; even though Xanxus was already _showing_ , his honed instincts said there was no really threat to him. Even if there was a low level threat, the way that the rest of the Guardians hovered as unobtrusively as possible around Xanxus, meant that it was unlikely that his Sky would even manage to twitch his fingers towards his X-guns before it was annihilated.

He slipped into the shower, and used the time to set the rest of the illusions he’d designed with Mammon’s help; they were intended to hide his unusual Flames, a precaution. They still hadn’t identified more than a half-dozen individuals who had _latent_ versions that _might_ be kin to the two Flames they were taking the precaution of hiding - there was of course _also_ his Sky, with his Active kin-Flame, but given his Father and the Ninth’s idiocy when it came to his Sky, and anything ‘strange’ he’d rather not tempt them with it until they figured things out further. His eyes resisted an illusion until he forced it, and his Rain Flame took time to coax up under his skin, the other two Flames fighting his choice of which of them to have easiest to access.

By the time he's dressed he chooses to wear the Varia Uniform - another subtle fuck you to his father - but despite that, he's 'sweet and innocent' Basil, nothing but Rain Flames anywhere near the surface, temper under control, and cool intelligence analyst, rather than Xanxus’s Basilisk - the subtle, skilful assassin he'd turned into under his Sky's influence. Basilisk had no tolerance for his Father's idiocy and the Ninth's senility to the point where it was only his otouto's quiet desire not to have to Rule _yet_ that was restraining him. (There was something incredibly relaxing about killing those too Stupid to be allowed to live.)

He takes one of the motorbikes from the vehicle pool; while Mammon thinks that the Flame allowing him to perform illusions will strengthen as he continues to use it and brings it under his conscious control, and that he _might_ manage to travel through his Flame within the next year, he wasn’t at that point yet.

The meeting leaves him snarling mentally, his Primary Flames exhausted from the way he’s been using them to conceal his secrets, and to give himself enough distance, enough calm to avoid depriving either his Sky or his otouto of their kills; they’d both been hurt more by the two men he was discussing the threat level with. But it means that by the time he’s back within Mammon’s territory again, his Secondary Flame is roiling, awake, filling the spaces left by the exhaustion of his Primaries, and by the time he gets into his Sky’s rooms in the heart of their Mist’s realm, the Flame that normally curls sleepily at the bottom of his soul is in control. He doesn’t know _what_ he wants, only that it’s in there and he  _needs_ it.


	2. Xanxus's PoV

He has his suicidally stupid Storm beneath him, his hand wrapped around the slender blonde’s throat, controlling Belphegor’s breathing. He allowed his Stupid Storm a breath every third or fourth thrust, enjoyed the way the teen allowed him to drag him closer and closer to unconsciousness, the fluttering of a rapid pulse under his fingertips, the convulsive spasms of the Prince’s ass around his cock. His Flames had _demanded_ that they had to have the Prince, and at least this way he didn’t have to hear the Prince-trash’s new nickname for him trip off the trash’s tongue. If he heard another 'Queen' from Belphegor before he’d done something about his frustrations with the idiots over in the Iron Fort, he wasn’t going to be held responsible for his actions. Not that his Storm seemed to mind the abuse, and he was going to have to order the Prince to the infirmary for Niccola and Lussuria to check that he hadn't damaged something in the little psychopath's head, given that this was the seventh or eighth time Belphegor had ended up beneath him like this since his Heat, and being left with an oxygen deprivation hangover and an ass that had been used brutally, didn’t seem to be dissuading the Prince from baiting him into doing it again, and what the fuck was it with his Elements?

The wave of need that slams into him is not his. In fact it ‘tastes’ like his Basilisk, his little stolen prize, and he reaches out with his Flames, and finds his favourite bed-toy has crossed back into the territory that he and Mammon hold between them. Not that that matters when the shock of the second wave is enough to drag his orgasm from him, despite the fact he had no intention of being done fucking his Storm’s ass yet. The need swamps him, claws at him, almost succeeds in tearing his Wrath into its two component parts, and he snarls, releasing the Prince's throat only when the brat is unconscious, and stalks to the door from 'his' chamber into the living area of the suite, and slams them open, his X-guns in his hands despite his naked state. He’s stopped feeling self-conscious about the belly; had trained himself ruthlessly to compensate. Niccola’s Flames had taught his own to guard the brats in his womb as he threw himself at his sparring partners, and despite the extra weight he moves as easily as he always had.

Basil - no, Basilisk, that's definitely _his_ Basilisk, dressed in the armored leathers of the Varia - throws open the two doors on the other side of the large room. He hopes his Mist caught footage of his father and the Idiot’s response to his bed-toy turning up to a meeting looking every inch the _very_ dangerous assassin. The red-brown almost molten Flame that the baby-Boss's brother has sleeping in his soul was very obviously awake, burning on the brat’s forehead - and fuck that relationship explained so much about his favourite toy; he’d always been taught that state only came _that_ naturally to those with Vongola blood. From the Brat’s positioning, the doors had been opened without being touched and he fed Flames into his X-guns; if the Brat was worn out enough that that third Flame was out in a state that amplified Flame instincts, and it had effects like that he needed to be wary; the sugar-sand was quite clearly kin to Mist, and could achieve many of the same things, but they had yet to identify this one. It had been awfully reticent to be brought out to play, and that meant that he didn’t have a template for the instincts or the capabilities that went with it.

He blinked at the realisation that there were eyes almost as red as his own staring back at him, and the world felt curiously heavy, like the air had thickened; even breathing took effort. One of the brats in his belly kicked; he wondered which one, if it was the brat’s brat that was making themselves known, and then the force of that red Flame shoved into him; shoved him back onto the bed, and coiled around him, so hungry that he wasn't sure if his Basilisk was in control, or if this was more like Dying Will Mode when one was first training with it; the Flames fulfilling wants the brat wasn't even aware of.

"Brat?" This hadn't been the first time he'd felt this one of his Rain's Flames; even if they had been failing to coax it out for training, he remembered his Flames _demanding_ it’s touch during his Heat, and refusing to let go of him until it had had it. It made both of his Flames purr, and fuck, they were going to have to figure out some way to bring it out more reliably for training it if it was going to take the brat like this. Add whatever this was to the boy's aptitude with his Rain and the skill with illusions he was rapidly gaining and he'd be hell to fight, and when they had him fully trained, he’d pay good money to watch him and the baby-Boss fight.

No answer; and the weight pinning him down didn't relent, and fuck; aat least this was a slightly safer set of Flame instincts to engage with than the ones that Belphegor had managed to provoke awake in Squalo three months back; he still hadn't gotten to the bottom of that incident, but the Prince had been in a Tranquility coma for a week even with Lussuria and Niccola working on him, and Squalo had holed up on the Cavallone estate - which had resulted in Niccola sulking like a toddler after the fourth day. Why had his nice simple, transactional sex life had to get so fucking complicated? Oh yes. Because his shitty-Shark had gotten territorial _enough_ about something to wake his Cloud Flames finally. He blamed the baby-Boss; everything since the Ring Battles was his fault, though judging by the memories of _that_ future, it was the baby-Rain that had made his Shark get all territorial.

And fuck, his ass was slick like he was in fucking Heat again, open and dripping and fuck. He’d been fucking his Suicidal Storm, he shouldn’t be like this - this was his body preparing for penetration, demanding it, it only got like this when he woke up on Lussuria’s cock, or between Squalo and Niccola. There were small hands on his skin, his Basilisk still fully clothed in the Varia's leathers, and moving was impossible, like there were heavy weights around his wrists, and there was a cock nudging at him, pressing in with Will and Flesh and his Wrath bent and took it and fuck, he wanted to know what the fuck was going on with his submissive little toy, who normally begged so prettily for his ass to be used as hard as possible, and barely seemed to know what his cock was _for_ ; who even once he’d found his backbone only used it to chose _whose_ cock he rode. But not now, not when his Wrath was purring in contentment and his prostate was throbbing and the brat's sugar-sand illusion Flame was covering his skin and making every inch of it, inside and out so sensitive it made him want to _scream_. It rasped against his nerves until even breathing sent pleasure through his body, and he didn't want to think about the spikes of blinding pleasure that the brats wriggling in their womb caused, and thank fuck that was half Mist construct - and fuck. Fuck. How the hell was he suppose to do anything other than lay there and whimper when each half inch of cock his Basilisk pushed into his ass made his cock spurt _again_? He tried to call his Flame, call to his other Guardians, _needed_ them, lest the brat take things too far.

The spice-brat _moved_ and he did scream. At the pleasure, at the pain, and it went on and on and on until he no idea how the hell he was still conscious and it was only _then_ that the brat's knot popped. The sensitivity of his skin meant that he felt every endless spurt of cum, and it felt like a fucking fire house had been shoved up his ass, and still the brat was trying to fuck him with the knot. "Again?" Fuck no. He might manage a second or a third round if he was in Heat, but another round like that right now with at least one of the brats in his belly absolutely delighted and wriggling and everything so fucking sensitive he was going to result in him passing out and he _refused_.

"Want to watch you take the Prince, brat. He needs some sense fucked into him, and the two of you would look fucking pretty." His Basilisk eyes him with those crimson eyes, Flames pressing against him, and he fumbles for his Wrath. Whatever the fuck was going on with his favourite bed-toy, he was _still_ the Sky. Still commanded, and he matched his Will with his brat, even as his ass still spasmed in pleasure, and aftershocks and the brats in his belly's movements made him want to just lay there and enjoy. Except that matching his Will against the Flame his Basilisk was riding was like facing another Sky; but at least it was one unbolstered, without others curled within it. "When the Baby-Boss's visit is done, brat, you and Mammon have some research to do." His Will was stronger, and the brat nodded, and then he was free of the weight and the Prince was making a pleased noise ...


	3. Belphegor's PoV

The pretty-not-Peasant wasn't supposed to be like _this_ , but the Prince had been right about the Queen's toy not being a Peasant! He couldn’t be a Peasant with the way he currently felt, like his Flames wanted him to submit. But the Peasant wasn’t a Sky or his fluffy little brother wouldn’t be the baby-Boss. His fingers twitched for his knives; he wanted to dissect the pretty-not-Peasant and see what made him tick, or if that would annoy his Queen too much, he wanted to dissect the CEDEF idiot.

And waking up from such an exquisite orgasm at the hands of his chosen Queen to find the pretty-not-Peasant's cock filling his ass - and an exceedingly pleased look on his Queen’s face that suggested he was being fucked on his Queen’s orders - and Flames wreathed around the Prince's throat so the Prince couldn't move without losing the ability to breath was making today even _better_. Especially given that his Queen was watching the two of them with a lazy leonine smile and his hand on his cock, and whatever Flame the pretty-not-Peasant was using to hold the Prince down had left the pretty-not-peasant’s hands free to scratch and otherwise hurt the Prince in very pleasurable ways. "The Boss says I need to fuck some sense into you, Prince the Ripper, but _I_ think you just need to be made to use your words. Your body is enjoying this too much for it to be an accident you keep winding up our Sky."

The heavy weight around the Prince’s throat eased and the Prince made an annoyed sound. "The Prince was enjoying that, pretty-not-Peasant." The Queen's pretty toy cupped his cheek gently with one hand, and the Prince turned his head to snap teeth at it.

"That's not the first time you've called me 'pretty-not-peasant', Belphegor. What do you _know_?" There's an edge of command in the pretty-not-peasant's voice, a thread of Flame that gave the words weight that he normally only associated with his Queen's, and he squirmed in pleasure on the pretty-not-peasant's cock. It felt as thick and as hot as his Queen's did, and the Flame burning in the pretty-not-peasant's eyes was one he didn't want to deny, but it was up to his Queen whether he answered; he’d come to the Varia with secrets and only his Queen could make the Prince tell.

“Belphegor.” The growl, low and rich with his Queen’s Flames made it clear that the Prince was to answer or get his Princely ass kicked across the Compound again by his Queen, even if that could be fun.

"The pretty-not-peasant's Flame is like _both_ his Queen's Flames." The growl that came from his Queen at the title made him want to bare his throat even further, made him want to _bleed_ and suffer for his Queen, for his Queen’s pleasure. The Queen's toy turned the weight of the Flames around his throat up again.

"Boss?" The pretty-not-peasant turned his head in the direction of their Queen, and he wasn't entirely sure what the Queen's toy was asking their Queen.

"Use him and interrogate him later brat. You're coming down off whatever this is, but -” his Queen paused thoughtfully, a lazy smile on his lips, “- does riding Niccola's cock for the rest of the morning appeal yet?" The pretty-not-peasant - his Queen's toy or rather he thought, the Queen’s _consort_ ; not quite his Queen’s equal, but _close_ \- shook his pretty head. "Then finish fucking the Prince-trash, brat and see if it does once you’ve finished using the brat Prince’s ass, because I want to see exactly how much of Niccola’s cock that pretty ass of yours can take. Consider it your punishment for allowing your father to piss you off so much that your Flames took fucking control."

"The Prince wants to cum again." He can feel his Storm under his skin, feel it rage, and as tempting as it was to allow it to do so, his Queen and his Queen's consort were too pretty to damage. An orgasm would soothe his Storm, and even if it was an orgasm caused by the Queen's consort, it was still at his Queen's direction, and until he figured out _why_ his Flames wanted to submit to his Queen’s consort, that would do.

"The Prince will get to come when _I_ say." His Queen's consort's pretty eyes looked like magma, and held his. "Why do your eyes look so familiar, Prince-the-Ripper? I feel like I should know them." He shivers as he realises his fringe has slipped again; it last did so for his Queen's consort during his Queen's Heat, and that meant the damage was done, but his Queen would object to his toy being killed off. The cock spearing him withdrew, and then thrust back in again, testing the limits of the slick his ass had gained from his Queen's Heat, and the binding around his neck tightening and tightening until he couldn't breath unless his Queen's consort _let_ him take a breath. And he didn't let him take very many of them. It chased thoughts of what he should do to his Queen’s consort for catching sight of his eyes, and dragged him to the edge of unconsciousness. "What would you do, Prince-the-Ripper if I made you bleed while you were like this? Would you try to kill me, or would you cum until you passed out? Shall we test it out?"

The Queen's consort doesn't give him a chance to answer, but rather bites down so hard on his lip that when he plunges his tongue into his mouth, he tastes _blood_. His Storm lashes itself into a frenzy, but something about the way he's held down, that it's his Queen’s orders and his Queen's consort doing this to him, and the way his Queen’s consort is turning that Sky-like Flame on him, one that tastes like his Queen is held within it, just turns that frenzy in on _him_. Until his Storm is lashing at him, disintegrating all the controls he's been using to stave off his orgasm, all the limitations on how much sensation he can feel and he takes one last breath and then the sensation is too much, is being amplified by all the Flames, the oxygen deprivation and he’s cumming so hard he passes _out_. Again.


	4. Basil's PoV

"Feeling better, brat?" He blinked hazily at his Sky, the need receding, and he nodded; his Sky grinned, all teeth, and kicked the Prince off the bed; as he didn’t wake, Mammon’s alteration of the floor shifted him to the infirmary. It had been a safety measure on the little Mist’s part, because they _all_ played rough in this bed. His knot was still popped, and he wondered how his Sky had separated him and Belphegor, but was relieved he had. Had he _really_ strangled Prince the Ripper with his Flames? "Good. You're going to put on a little show for me, remember?" His Sky made a gesture, and there was their Lightning padding across to the bed to join the two of them. When had Niccola slipped into the room?

"Boss, he's too small -" He’d joined the two of them in bed, mostly under Squalo, as Niccola took the older Rain, but sometimes sucking the swordsman off, and the sight of Niccola’s cock sliding into Squalo’s ass, the impossible stretch of it, and the way the older Rain moaned as it was forced in never failed to make his knot pop. But the idea of taking it made his passage clench viciously tight, and he whined, wanting.

"Even if we haven't figured out what his Flame actually is Niccola, he's a Primary-flamed illusionist; you’ve seen first hand what Squalo can do with a _tertiary_. Brat wants it enough, and your cock will fit. And you want to please me, don't you, brat?" He took a deep breath and allowed the sugar-sand of his 'other' Primary Flame drift over his skin before he nodded. "Good. Well it would please me to watch that enormous cock of Niccola’s taken entirely into your tiny ass. And I mean all of it, brat, including his knot." He whimpered, and his Sky threw something at the Sunny Lightning, and he sprawled on the bed, eyes shut, and his head in his Sky's lap. He'd suck the older teen's cock in a bit, but right now he was so tired, like he'd been when his idiot father had first insisted on training him to using Hyper Dying Will Mode. And everything was incredibly sensitive, a side effect of his illusion Flame, and he could _feel_ it curling into muscles in an attempt to make his Sky's Will possible. It was disconcerting, and it was only his exhaustion and the fact he’d been practising body-modification illusions with Mammon that stopped him panicking.

Slick fingers, covered in something that felt like vaseline, probed his entrance, and he wanted to insist that Niccola hurry up, his Flames eager to do what his Sky had asked of him, but before he could get the words out, his Sky's heavy hand had dropped to the back of his neck, and squeezed it gently, possessive Sky Flames sinking into his flesh and sapping any agency he’d had left. He’d said yes, and his Sky and their Lightning would look after him; that was enough. "Patience, Basil, sweetheart. The anticipation is half the fun; even if you could just climb on and ride my cock, _I_ enjoy the process of working an ass as pretty as yours up to taking my cock." Low level Sun Flames radiated from the fingers working his opening kept him from deliberately relaxing himself and hurrying things up that way. It felt like it took forever for Niccola to slid even the first finger into the first _knuckle_. “Prior to this,” the Lightning meant their Sky’s Heat, “a partner who could take my cock was a rare and coveted treat, and preparing them became a _very_ pleasant ritual. So let me enjoy myself, sweetheart.”

"Fuck brat. Niccola's cock is pink and flushed, and it's thicker than your fucking calf, brat. It's going to look so fucking sexy when you're stretched around it." He swallowed, and the hand on the back of his neck switched to petting his hair, but it still radiated Sky Flames, and with how sensitive his own Flames had made him, he just wanted to purr. The two men playing with his body had him completely under their thrall and he was entirely okay with that; his experience of the last five months in his Sky’s bed said that even if he ended up in the infirmary afterwards, the sex itself would feel _really_ good. The way Niccola was controlling his body, using his Sun and his Lightning was as hot as it was frustrating, and made him feel _almost_ like the virgin he'd been before being 'dragged' into Xanxus's Heat. There still wasn't an entire finger in his passage yet, and he was _so_ sensitive that even that felt huge.

That one finger crooked, gently, and rubbed, and he yelped as the hypersensitivity of his prostate made his cock twitch at the stimulation; it was pinned between him and the mattress and the coverlet was rough against such sensitive skin. "Roll over, sweetheart, and I'll suck on that while I work. You're as tasty as our Sky is."

"Roll over, Brat." His Sky’s hands encourage him to turn over; all his muscles are like jelly and ache and he’s not sure if he’d have managed it without that encouragement. He'd meant to take advantage of his position to suck his Sky's cock and pet the belly that seemed to have grown from nowhere the last few weeks because he adored the babies in there already. Their Flames were so ‘sweet’ and he couldn’t get enough of them - he woke with his hands cradling them more often than not. Niccola had confirmed there were eight in there, and he couldn’t wait to meet them. But if his Sky demanded he do something, he was in no mood to disobey.

Niccola smiled at him, and his Sky slipped several fingers into his mouth and he shut his eyes and enjoyed the sensations as the Lightning sucked him, but his eyes shot open when Niccola wrapped a tight band of Flames around his knot so that it couldn't expand and he couldn't cum again, and then the Lightning was shifting, angling his throat. And _fuck_. There were three fingers in his ass now, the Sun Flames easing off, and he couldn't cum despite the way Niccola's hand was working him open and the way Niccola was fucking his own throat with his cock.

But he couldn't complain about the lack of ability to cum, not while he was as high as a kite on his Sky's Flames and his mouth was full of his Sky's fingers, which tasted spicy-sweet. "Going to work my whole hand into you now, sweetheart; relax, and it'll feel good." Niccola’s voice was soft, coaxing. He whined at the brutal stretch of his hole around the Lightning's large hand, and he realised that Niccola was using his Sun to tighten the muscles so it didn't just 'give' the way his Flames wanted them to. His Flames had made it so he could take Niccola's cock, and that meant being relaxed, but he could appreciate the slow work up, he really could but he was ready to cum now, and he much preferred cumming with a cock to clench around; the difference between an orgasm with one buried in his ass and a ‘hollow’ one was like chalk and cheese.

But he didn’t quite get his wish. Niccola released the band of Flames and backed off so he was only sucking the tip of his cock, and then curled his fingers carefully into a fist, and rubbed his knuckles over his prostate, and then tried to pulh his fist out still clenched; that pulled at his rim like he'd been knotted, and he howled around the fingers in his mouth as he came, his knot popping with almost painful suddenness. It was all he could do to lay there while the Lightning carefully extracted his hand from his spasming passage, and he whined when that left him empty.

"Very pretty, brat. Now I think, Niccola, I'd like to see your cock in my brat's ass, and for him to suck my cock while you do it." He whined, a pleased sound, approving of that idea, and his Sky and his Sky's Lightning rearranged him so his Sky could have his desire, and the Lightning stiffened him in place with a subtle application of Flames at his joints. He appreciated it; he wasn't sure if his legs would have held him without that assistance. Niccola helped him to find the angle of his head and throat that worked with their Sky's baby belly, and then to find his rhythm, the best way for him to work his Sky’s cock into his throat, and then, and only then, pressed the _enormous_ head of his cock to his loosened entrance.

"Keep sucking me brat, and I expect to see you take the whole of _both_ of our cocks. Be fun to watch you take two Cavallone cocks, brat; I wonder if they’d meet in the middle?" The image caught him, memories of watching Squalo crying as Dino worked his cock into the older Rain without the advantage of Heat alterations, and the instruction was matched to a heavy weight of Sky Flames and then Niccola's cock was sinking _smoothly_ into his passage, stretching it and it felt like it went on for _ever_. He could _feel_ things shifting that probably shouldn’t shift, trusted Niccola to put him back together, felt his Flames curling around the intruder, making space for it, the hypersensitivity of his body blazing every millimeter of movement into his memory, and he whined around the cock in his mouth, and then there was Niccola's hips resting against his buttocks. "Well done, brat. Now we’re going to fuck you and you’re going to enjoy it, understood?"

The two of them rocked him back forwards between them, Niccola's hands wrapped tightly around his hips and his Sky's hands woven in his hair, and he gave himself up to his Flames, to his Sky's Will, and both answered him; he didn't, couldn't breath around the cock in his throat, but he didn't get lightheaded, and his ass tried so very hard to milk the cock working it; he couldn’t at first, it was too big, too hard, but his body adjusted, figured out the trick, and that made tolerable shift to exquisite, and it went on and on, blindingly pleasurable, and then his Sky was swearing, pulling him off his cock, and there was thick sweet-spicy cum, and he had to keep swallowing lest it overflow his mouth. It seemed to be almost as much cum as they’d all produced during the Heat, and his belly felt warm and swollen and full of Sky Flames in a way that made him want to purr more once his Sky was done, and he could breathe again.

"If you need to scream, brat, do. You make the _prettiest_ noises, and Niccola's knot is _enormous_. But you're going to take it safely because I _say_ you will. Nod if you understand that, brat." He nods, and there's one final thrust and he does scream. He can't do anything else with the size of the knot that's just inflated in his ass; it shoved more of his organs out of the way, and he felt his stomach distend until it touched the bed. "And fuck, that's sexy brat. It's a shame you can't be bred like the baby-Boss, because having you wander around looking like this the whole time would be _amazing_."

"He's right, sweetheart. That is the only way you could get any sexier." Niccola releases all of his Flames, and it's only then it truly registers how swollen his belly is, how much of it has been displaced to take the cock in his ass; he's as rounded as his baby brother currently is, and Tsuna-sama is six months gone. "Now, I'm going to lay us both down on our sides, sweetheart. I haven't fucked _anyone_ for something like forty-eight hours, and my knot might take a while to deflate as a result." He nods, sleepily, his mind full of all sorts of fun chemicals, from whatever had had him topping both his Sky and the Prince, to the bonding high of all the concentrated Sky Flames Xanxus had been feeding him, and the endorphins from the two orgasms Niccola had coaxed from him. "Before you fall asleep on my cock, sweetheart, anything new I should know about that might complicate me putting things back to rights?" He shakes his head, but his Sky murmurs something he doesn't hear, and then his Sky curls close too, the babies within touching distance. He splays fingers across his Sky’s belly, feels them kick, and he falls asleep that way, intent on sleeping off the pink fluffy cloud he'd taken up residence in.


End file.
